


D

by ashamedbliss, orphan_account



Series: government hooker [2]
Category: Muse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bodyguard, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, F/M, Het, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashamedbliss/pseuds/ashamedbliss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and you thought C was bad - just wait until you meet D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Four months later_

The tropical rain thunders thick and heavy outside. It pummels the shores, swamps the pavements, and lashes like a whip against the windows. The sound roars through Nassau, ever-present and majestic, like the voice of a deity.

Not that the two people in the hotel room have noticed.

“Faster, _sharmuta_ ,” Matthew groans, fingernails scratching down Dominic’s chest. Dominic bucks up into him at the sound of the foreign word caressing his ear, Matthew’s tongue catching his ear lobe.

“Was that Hebrew?” Dominic asks, half choking out a moan as Matthew rides him _just_ so. He swallows hard, trying to commit every moment to memory, as rare as these certain moments are.

“You’re learning,” says the voice at his ear, before teeth clamp onto the shell of it. The pain spikes with the pleasure as Matthew spills across his chest, arse clenching and dragging Dominic into his orgasm.

“Jesus Christ,” Dominic pants, staring blankly at the ceiling fan futilely trying to keep them both cool. “So maybe hurricanes aren’t that bad after all.”

“Shut up,” Matthew says, already off Dominic and on his own side of the bed, chest rising and falling. His blue eyes scan the windows, watching the palm trees dance with the wind in the distance. Dominic thinks he looks calm, serene now, as opposed to the storm raging outside.

He wouldn’t dare say that though.

To say their relationship was unconventional would be an understatement, and to say it was even a relationship at all would be a stretch at best. That said, he wasn’t aware of Matt dragging anybody else off to the Bahamas at short notice, but then again, he supposed being in close proximity to C at all times was part of his job description.

He’d still spent more time this trip in Matthew’s bedroom than his own, though.

“The conference should resume tomorrow, they said,” Matthew says quietly, not looking at Dominic but rather looking over his body and out towards the undulating ocean. “But it’s a load of fucking bollocks, in my opinion.”

“Yeah?” Dominic breathes, hoping it’s one of those moments where Matthew will actually divulge some information about what exactly he does. Four months on and Dominic is nearly as clueless as he was the day he arrived, often shut out of important high-security meetings and not privy to any communications C took part in on his computer.

“Well the CIA have no fucking clue about which direction they’re wanting to take, and it’s obvious that the Russians and the Chinese are sleeping with each other. SIS has absolutely no business here, aside from treating me to a nice break from the rat race.” A smile ghosts Matthew’s lips then, and his eyes finally flicker to Dominic. “That lady from Brazil was looking at you over my shoulder all this morning, you know. Not going to defect for a nice pair of tits, are you?”

Dominic swallows, caught in that icy blue stare. “No, of course not.”

He’s being painfully honest. Since... well, whatever ‘this’ is started, he hasn’t been brave enough to even think about sleeping with someone else. He’s certain it’s a fairly open relationship, but having been exposed to the white-hot core of Matthew’s rage, he’d prefer not to take that risk.

Matthew snorts loudly. “I would, for that rack. She kept adjusting it in her dress, thought she was going to fall out of it. Not that I would’ve minded, but...” Matthew trails off as his eyes slide up and down the length of Dominic’s naked body. Matthew reaches out a finger to Dominic’s chest, more specifically the skin of his right pectoral muscle and the long, ugly scab marring it. “Gone off women a bit though, recently.”

The grin Dominic fights to keep down obviously makes some kind of appearance, because Matthew shoots him a warning glare. “Don’t get fucking cocky now, sunshine. I could walk out of here and get any dick I wanted. It’s just that yours is available and normally within ten feet of my person.”

Matthew rolls onto his back then and they fall into a silence that’s neither uncomfortable nor fully comfortable. Dominic likes Matthew like this, when he’s completely sober and not surrounded by people either trying to kiss him or kill him. It’s a side of Matthew not very many people get to see, and Dominic secretly prides himself on the fact that not only does he get to see it, but he has a suspicion that he brings it out in him too. He’s not quite sure if it’s his willingness to say ‘yes’ to Matthew’s dangerous ideas (or his inability to say no), or if it’s how he understands exactly how Matthew ticks, and what he can and can’t do, but there’s something in his chest that tells him he’s alright here in bed beside one of the world’s greatest secret agents.

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?” Matthew replies softly. Dominic wasn’t even aware the words had left his own lips.

“You know,” Dominic mumbles, feeling his courage begin to ebb away. “Active service. You never did tell me.”

For a moment Matthew’s glare is granite, and Dominic doubts he’ll get much out of him, or that he’ll leave this room alive.

“I have over ten consecutive years of active service. You’ll need to be more specific,” Matthew says eventually, and Dominic breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he won’t be dismembered, then. Not today, anyway.

“Ten years?” He smiles, finding the image of a fresh-faced, younger version of the man beside him somewhat appealing. He furrows his brows. “Wait, how old are you then?”

Matthew exhales, some kind of half-hearted attempt at a laugh. “Nearly five months and you still don’t know how old I am. Did you _ever_ read that file you were given when you took the job?” Matthew pauses for a moment. “Thirty four. Is that a problem?” he asks, as if offended by the very thought that it would be a problem.

Dominic blinks, slightly taken aback, before releasing a brief huff of laughter. “Jesus. I mean, I always knew you were older than me, but... ten years? Fuck me.”

“Good to know you still want me, even though I’m an _old man_ ,” Matthew says, drawling the words as he leans towards Dominic. The bodyguard finds himself wondering if he’ll be kissed, something he doesn’t crave but appreciates when it’s offered. Matthew laughs though, and pulls back to his side of the bed, resting his hands on his stomach as he stares at the ceiling fan. “You’ll still need to be more specific. Try to refrain from changing the subject. It’s in your best interest, considering I _never_ talk about my active service.” There’s a venom in Matthew’s voice that Dominic can’t quite place.

Dominic swallows. “Um, well…” his eyes dart frantically across the room for a few painfully long seconds before an idea worms its way into his head. He beams. “Tell me about your last mission.”

Matthew hums pensively, and Dominic wonders for a brief moment if Matthew will say anything at all. “Gaza Strip, 2012.”

“That recently? I thought you’d be in a desk job by then.”

Matthew smirks, a flash of emotion that is gone as quickly as it arrives. “Correct, I was. I had ten years in the field from when I was 18, then I got too high up the food chain and too important, sadly. But they needed someone who spoke Hebrew fluently, as well as a relatively standard dialect of Arabic and English, of course. Oh, and the Russian came in handy too, surprisingly enough. The Middle East always tested my language skills.” There’s a fond look on Matthew’s face as he comes to a stop, but his face soon rearranges the expression into his normal mask.

Dominic responds with a bemused laugh. “I always meant to ask, how many languages do you speak? Is English even your first language?”

Matthew laughs loudly, the sound drowning out the rain whipping against the windows for a few blessed seconds. “Always knew there was something more to you than that cock of yours, Howard,” Matthew retorts as he laughs. “Come on now, do you really think they would let the head of the _British_ intelligence services be someone who wasn’t born and bred in the country? I sometimes wonder if you just have cheese between those ears of yours,” Matthew quips, before he sobers once more.

When he speaks again, his voice is the quietest Dominic has ever heard it. “French, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Russian’s one of my strongest ones, actually. Some of the European ones just feed off each other, you know? But Russian is different, it’s nice.” Matthew’s long fingers flick from his fist as he counts. “Mandarin. Modern Standard Arabic, all the dialects get a bit muddled after a while, they need country-specific revision each time... Hebrew... have I missed any?”

“D’you know any Catalan? I learnt some on holiday.”

“Precious. Was it a ‘lads on tour’ type of menagerie with your Army mates down in Barcelona? Enough Sangria to make sure you didn’t see straight for a week?”

“Um, not really. I was twelve.”

A smile spreads across Matthew’s face. “Which words did you learn, then? None of the ones that would be useful in bars today, I bet.”

“Mostly pleases and thank-yous. I think I learnt how to ask for a pizza.”

The smile spreads further. “If I was a lesser man I would call that adorable. Let’s be thankful that I’m not.” Matthew pauses for breath, not quite long enough for the comment to sink into to Dominic’s sweat-dried skin. “Catalan is quite wonderful, though. The bastard son of French and Spanish, whose Italian cousin spent a bit too much time there during the summers...” The fond look is back on Matthew’s face, before it fades. “Languages are just my thing. Everyone has a talent, and everything else has to be learnt. I learnt how to spy. I was never a natural at it, but I was natural at talking languages, reading new things, picking up words.”

Dominic grins fondly. “You must have had a great time at school, then.”

Matthew’s face clouds over, his eyes becoming stormy enough to rival the natural disaster occurring outside. “I got good grades, I suppose. Some of my classmates didn’t find my gift quite as wonderful as my teachers did, is all. Whatever. You wanted to know about my active service, not my years at a shitty London comprehensive. Ask me something else.”

“Oh,” Dominic quibbles, recoiling from the raw nerve he’s clearly hit. “Sorry.”

“Stop,” Matthew snaps. “You know how much I hate apologies.” Dominic does. Matthew sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “You didn’t know. I’m not exactly a fucking open book. I can’t be in this job,” he half-laughs, but the emotion isn’t there.

Dominic fidgets uncomfortably. It’s suddenly become woefully awkward, as if the walls are closing in on him. He feels the need to escape. Coughing, he rolls off the bed and reaches for his clothes, still strewn about the floor of the room.

“I think I need some fresh air,” he mumbles, shimmying his trousers on. He buttons his shirt and glances outside, at the still-streaming rivers of rain gushing down the window pane, and reaches, grimacing, for his raincoat. He thanks God that he remembered to pack it.

“That coat will be useless, in this rain,” Matthew says, and Dominic whips around, still unused to the fact that Matthew always manages to creep up on him. He’s buttoning up his own shirt, trousers low on his hips without a belt. “Like this will be fine, come on.” He leads them into the lounge of his suite, which is bigger than the whole of Dominic’s room, and tugs open the sliding patio door to the sound of the howling wind.

“Oh my god,” Dominic gapes, the wind blasting his hair with rain instantly. “You’re mental.”

Matthew strides out boldly, as if it were a perfect spotless Summer’s day, taking a deep breath and exhaling in profound satisfaction as he marvels over the tortured expanse of the sea. He turns back towards Dominic, a mad grin spread across his face and the accompanying laughter lost to the wind, as he spreads his arms wide and looks skywards.

Dominic realises he’s smiling too.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two weeks later_  
  
“You know,” Matthew hums, his smirk practically audible. “It always surprises me how well a piece of shit can scrub up.”  
  
Dominic adjusts his bow tie as he ignores Matthew’s comment, staring down his reflection and vaguely aware of Matthew hovering over his shoulder in a very similar tuxedo, although undoubtedly much more expensive than his own. Happy with his reflection, Dominic juts his chin up slightly in defiance and Matthew laughs loudly in his ear.  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want a line, to take the edge off your nerves?” Matthew asks, hand in the small of Dominic’s back moving towards his arse.  
  
“I’m fine,” Dominic says defiantly. “I’ve seen people explode in Afghanistan, I’m sure the annual dinner for the MI6 top dogs will be a breeze.” Dominic turns to face Matthew, using his extra hint of height to his advantage. His courage always flares when he knows Matthew isn’t armed, neither of them are tonight. “Anyway, am I there as your security, or your boyfriend or what?”  
  
Matthew’s eyes regard him carefully, giving nothing away. “You’re my plus one,” he says eventually. He snatches up a little silver bracelet, made primarily of what appears to be twined metal wire, and slides it around his wrist. Before Dominic can bring it up, Matthew is turning his back and walking out of his bedroom, one that actually belongs to him. “Let’s go.”  
  
“Because  _that_ answers my question,” Dominic mutters under his breath, but of course he follows.  
  
A quick drive later, and they stand before the doors of the most extravagant ballroom Dominic has never seen; there are no neon lights, no clamouring crowds queuing at the door, but a silent and pervasive authority he has come to associate with the secret service leaking from within. He sees several couples, some of which he recognises as C’s associates and their spouses, quietly slinking in with arms linked tightly, as if conspiring together. He ponders as to whether he should attempt to do the same with Matthew, but pushes down the urge - he knows almost without question that his request will be swiftly denied.  
  
“God, Maria looks like shit in purple,” Matthew sneers, his derision pinpointing its next victim. “It’s an eyesore with that hair of hers.”  
  
“Didn’t know you were a fashion critic.” Dominic grins. He personally doesn’t find the chiffon gown too displeasing. He doesn’t think it would be a good idea to point it out, though.  
  
As they enter, they see a row of ladies waiting to put their dainty clutches through x-ray machines, and men being patted down by bodyguards nearly twice Dominic’s weight. “Of course,” he mutters to himself, as if he should’ve expected it. Dominic raises his arms to the side without question as a man approaches him, Matthew’s eyes following the bodyguard’s hands as they slide along his body. Satisfied, the bodyguard nods before moving onto Matthew, recognition flaring in his eyes. After a few moments, the bodyguard straightens up to his full height, towering nearly a foot over Matthew.  
  
“Sir,” the man says in a deep voice. “Are the two bags in the breast pocket of your jacket any kind of explosive?”  
  
“No,” Matthew says, and Dominic can almost hear the smirk in his voice.  
  
Security complete, Matthew leads them through into the main room, round tables filling the floor and decadent chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. “Try not to gawp,” Matthew snaps in his ear, leading them towards the bar. His long fingers snatch two champagne flutes from a passing waiter, and he hands one back to Dominic. “Drink up. This is going to be incredibly dull.”  
  
It isn’t long before someone calls C by his name, and the grimace changes to a smile in less than a second. He firmly shakes the hand of the newcomer, who asks polite greeting questions at lightning speed.  
  
“And how was Barbados?” the man asks eventually, not having once spared a glance at Dominic, standing just behind Matthew and observing over his shoulder.  
  
“An absolute storm,” he beams, a single fleeting glance sparkling at Dominic before flying back to the stranger. “It didn’t really feel like work, going there. Sometimes I really do love my job.”  
  
The man nods exuberantly before somehow linking into an anecdote involving an office stapler, and Dominic tunes out. He people-watches idly, realising that he has no part in this conversation, or, in fact, any of the conversations going on in this room. After a few minutes a hand grabs his shoulder, disturbing him from his ogling of the bar which is so painfully far away, his glass already empty.  
  
“God, I hate that cunt,” Matthew says. “And tonight is going to be full of talking to people I dislike. The only person in this room I can actually stand is a certain Mister Kirk, and he’ll be as far away from the bar as possible. Recovering alcoholic.”  
  
“Do you actually have any friends, in this job?”  
  
Matthew pauses, his hand still on Dominic’s shoulder. He lets it fall, furrowing his brow and staring at Dominic as if he’s incredibly slow. “I’m one of the most powerful men in the country, if not the world, and I’m richer than you could ever dream of being. Of  _course_  I don’t have any true friends.”  
  
“Well, you’ve got me.”  
  
Dominic realises he’s made a terrible mistake the moment the words leave his mouth. Matthew grimaces immediately and turns away, looking slightly paler.  
  
“Ugh, fetch me a bucket,” he groans. “Right, tables. Try not to hump my leg on the way there.”  
  
He follows Matthew through the crowd, meandering between the chattering multitude to a round table, complete with a white linen throw and flowery centrepiece. He finds his namecard - well, ‘Matthew Bellamy +1’ - waiting for him, and pulls out his seat. Before he can even take his place on it, he is interrupted by a loud cheer from Matthew’s direction.  
  
“Tom, you fucker!”  
  
“Well, look who it is!”  
  
He assumes Matthew has found his ‘certain Mister Kirk’, and with a groan falls to his seat. He had honestly worried this might happen, that Matthew would find someone he actually wanted to talk to, and that he would be left stranded. Who, out of this whole parade of elite MI6 members, gives a shit about a man who doesn’t even merit his own namecard?  
  
“Tom, Tom, this is the one I told you about.”  
  
Dominic’s ears prick, and he feels Matthew tug his arm lightly. He turns to see a tall, slim man, dressed in black tie like the rest, with dark hair and dark eyes. Almost instantly he gets the impression that Matthew might not be the only one of his kind.  
  
“Dominic, right?” he asks, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
“Likewise,” Dominic says, nodding and gripping the offered hand firmly.  
  
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tom says.  
  
Dominic casts a glance towards Matthew. “I can’t say the same, I’m afraid. Matthew is quite tight lipped about his colleagues, but I presume that’s simply part of the job description.”  
  
Tom laughs, and at the sound Matthew seems to relax, the tension leaving his shoulders. They take their seats at the table at Tom’s suggestion, and within moments Dominic can feel Matthew’s ankle nudging at his own, under the tablecloth that falls right to the floor. He fights a blush, remembering the first day Matthew had introduced him into the world beyond that of C, and the misadventures he had had involving a table.  
  
He can safely say his technique has improved since then.  
  
“Mate, I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” Tom says, and suddenly realising he’s being addressed, Dominic is released from his daydream. “It’s boring as shit.”  
  
“I’m sure we can find our own ways to make things more interesting.” Matthew croons, sipping at his champagne. Two waitresses appear at their table, one offering red and the other offering white. The young girl that pours the red for Matthew blushes as he whispers into her ear, and scurries away quickly as soon as she’s done.  
  
It makes Dominic a bit hot under his too-tight collar.  
  
“I know,” Tom begins with frankly worrying grin, elegantly holding his wine glass filled with water. “Let’s play a game.”  
  
“What?” a female voice chips in. Dominic feels someone sashay past his chair, and whips his head around to see a thick-haired brunette wind around to take the seat next to Tom. Her dress is a deep emerald, and silky in texture, layered in soft folds over her chest. She sneaks a quick glance up at Dominic and Matthew. “Are you starting without me?”  
  
“God, Rach, we wouldn’t dream of it,” Tom smiles, placing his hand over hers. “Matt, Dom, this is Rachel.”  
  
“Oh - Rachel Tanner, yes?” Matthew asks, and she nods. Dominic knows they’ve probably met at another similar function, but he cannot fight the niggling suspicion that they might have known each other on more carnal terms.  
  
Matthew continues, oblivious. “You work in languages, don’t you? I’m sure I did a Judeo-Arabic top up course with you a few years back.”  
  
She laughs with a full, toothy smile. “Yes, that’s it! M...Matthew, right?”  
  
Barely concealing a low laugh, Tom smirks at the pair of them. “Come off it, you two.”  
  
Matthew smiles widely, a glint in his eye that sets Dominic on edge as if he’s one of Pavlov’s dogs. “Tom you sly thing, I didn’t realise you were keeping it within the organisation,” Matthew says slowly, looking between the pair of them. Dominic’s hope of finding an outsider in this mass of espionage experts flickers and dies.  
  
“I could say the same to you, mate.” Tom quirks an eyebrow at Matthew, and both laugh in a slightly disconcerting unison. He turns to Dom, nodding politely. “Excuse these two,” he says, gesturing towards Matthew and Rachel. “They have actually known each other for a good few years.”  
  
A sense of unease washes over Dominic, but he nods nonetheless. The starters arrive, an artfully arranged plate of paté with tiny slices of toast to accompany it. Dominic futilely tries to remember his Army dinners, and which cutlery you’re meant to use for which course, until he remembers that the nice things like this were always reserved for the officers. He watches Matthew delicately spread paté across a slice of toast, and he does the same. The toast snaps.  
  
“So Dominic,” Rachel begins. “What do you do for a living?”  
  
Dominic blinks at her, before looking towards Matthew. The man at his side nods, and Dominic turns back to Tom’s girlfriend. “I’m Matthew’s bodyguard, actually.”  
  
“Oh, how lovely,” she says in a tone that implies the exact opposite. “They were always trying to give Tom here a bodyguard, but he always declined. Thought it would be a bit weird to have someone following him, day and night.”  
  
Dominic opens his mouth to reply, but finds he doesn’t have an answer ready. “Rachel, please,” Matthew says with an air of disinterest. “It’s his first formal function. Be gentle on him.”  
  
 _I’m not a fucking china doll_ , Dominic thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he relaxes as Matthew’s socked foot curls around his ankle. He concentrates on spreading the paté across the toast without snapping it again.  
  
“Alright, let’s get the evening going,” Tom says a minute later. “Truth or dare, anyone?”  
  
Dominic sees the other members of their table steal unnerved glares at them, and grins inwardly. “I’m definitely in.”  
  
Matthew doesn’t even look up as he nods. “You know I am.”  
  
Tom chuckles. “Alright, Mister Confident, why don’t you go first?”  
  
“Dare. I don’t do truth.”  
  
“A given with this career path really, isn’t it?” Tom says. “I dare you tell me -  _truthfully_ \- if it’s true that you fucked the Prime Minister’s daughter.”  
  
Rachel almost explodes with laughter. Dominic tries not to spit his wine back into his glass at the question. Surely Matthew wouldn’t be that debauched... would he?  
  
Matthew huffs, swilling his wine around in his glass. “No! I didn’t  _fuck_  her, Thomas. For the last time, all I did was eat her out.  _And_  she loved it. So there, leave it be.”  
  
Dominic pales at the revelation, thinking of the barely legal girl who was constantly plastered across the pages of gossip magazines. He feels Matthew’s hand creeping up his thigh, but all the touch does is confuse him further.  
  
The plates from the starters are cleared away, and Dominic leans forward to place his forearms on the table, Matthew’s hand inching closer to his crotch with every languid stroke.  
  
Tom stays obediently quiet until the waiters have cleared off. “Alright, my turn. I’ll have a dare, too.”  
  
A crooked smile etches its way onto Matthew’s face. “I dare you to call me a cunt in your speech later. In front of everyone.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes,” Matthew urges him, leaning forward. His hand falls from Dominic’s thigh.  
  
“No. I can’t. I  _won’t_.”  
  
“Just sneak it in. It’ll be hilarious.”  
  
“Can’t I just call you a cunt to your face?” Tom says, finally smiling. “Because you’re a massive fucking cunt, Bells.”  
  
“You do that all the time, that doesn’t count.”  
  
“It’s a dare, you have to do it,” Rachel urges him, prodding him in the side. Eventually he relents with a sigh, shaking his head.  
  
“That should be something to look forward to,” Matthew murmurs to Dominic. “Not that there’s anything else.”  
  
“Your turn, Rach,” Tom nudges his girlfriend, clearly eager to get the spotlight off himself. “Truth or dare?”  
  
She bites her lip. “Truth.”  
  
“I think Dom should ask,” Matthew interjects. “Seeing as he doesn’t know her.”  
  
Dominic gulps. He makes uneasy eye contact with the woman sat across from him, smiling expectantly. He wishes he could think of a better question than the one he’s about to ask, the one that’s been bothering him since he first met her, but he doubts he’ll get a straightforward answer otherwise.  
  
He clears his voice. “Did you fuck Matt?”  
  
He watches her face fall, and finds himself enjoying it. She makes a rather futile attempt to hide behind her hair as Tom begins a round of tense laughter and Matthew remains silent, taking another sip from his glass.  
  
“Jesus,” Tom covers his laughter with a broad hand. “Matt, I think he’s getting jealous.”  
  
Rachel gives him a playful smack on the arm, composes herself, and faces Dominic again. “...Yes. Once.”  
  
“Or twice.” Matthew mutters.  
  
“But it was a long time ago.” Rachel asserts. “Under a certain set of circumstances. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”  
  
Of course, that only makes Dominic worry more. The main course arrives, lamb with some kind of potatoes and gravy, but Dominic barely registers it over the bad taste in his mouth. The conversation moves to more suitable subjects for a formal function, for example, the week Rachel and Tom have just spent in Rio de Janeiro. No need to mention that it was to facilitate a major international drugs bust.  
  
Dominic slowly realises, as he looks around the room, that their table is set slightly aside from the others, and that as they’re served each course, they’re always first. Belatedly, it hits him: the man at his side, C, is in charge of  _all_  these people, and he’s currently sitting next to one of the most powerful men in the world.  
  
The thought makes his dick twitch.  
  
“Dom’s turn,” Rachel practically purrs as the plates are cleared from their table, the top table of the function. “I dare you to blow Matt in the toilets before dessert is served.”  
  
Tom’s head turns at lightning speed to stare at her. “Jesus Christ, Rach, where’d that come from?”  
  
The woman in question shrugs with a giggle. Matthew, however, has not yet recovered from a bout of hysterical laughter.  
  
“I like her, Tom. You can keep her.”  
  
“Thank you for your blessing, Matt,” Rachel says with a roll of her eyes. “So,” she says, turning to Dom. “You’re doing it, right?”  
  
“I didn’t even say if I wanted to do truth or dare,” Dominic mutters.  
  
“That’s not a no,” Matthew says, standing from his seat. Roughly half of the people in the room turn to look at him as he does so, but he pays no attention to them. “I know they’re watching. Follow me in a minute, I’ll be in the gents.”  
  
 _Where else_ , Dominic thinks silently, trying not to stare at Matthew’s arse as he leaves.  
  
“Was he always like this?” Dominic asks Tom, whose eyebrows raise in question. “Y’know, an egotistical prick.”  
  
Tom is still laughing as Dominic makes his way to the toilets a minute later.  
  
Matthew is waiting at the far end of the fancy bathroom, all mirrors and silver. As Dominic approaches him, he steps forward and pushes him into the nearest cubicle, turning them so Dominic’s back slams against the unlocked door. “Been wanting to do this to you all night,” Matthew says, before he dives in for a kiss.  
  
“We don’t... we don’t have much time,” Dominic gasps out against his unrelenting lips, and Matthew pulls back, smirking.  
  
“Aren’t you eager to have my cock down your throat?” Matthew asks, and Dominic spins them so Matthew is pressed along the door, taking a moment to slide the lock shut. He falls to his knees, pushing Matthew’s cummerbund up so he can get to the button and fly of his trousers. Matthew’s dick falls forward in his boxers, and Dominic hurries to pull it out, eagerly sucking on the head of it.  
  
“Christ,” Matthew moans from low in his throat, his fingers sliding through Dominic’s hair. A thought pops into Dominic’s head as he moves his mouth up and down Matthew’s cock, niggling at him until he can’t cope anymore. He pulls his mouth off Matthew’s dick.  
  
“What the fuck did Rachel mean, under a certain set of circumstances?!”  
  
Matthew looks down at him, utterly confused as to why his cock isn’t in Dominic’s mouth, and why Dominic’s mouth is making any noise at all except that of a moan. “Wha--  _now?!_  You ask that  _now?!_ ” Matthew asks hoarsely, Dominic flinching slightly at the tone.  
  
“It’s important to me,” Dominic says, unable to meet Matthew’s eyes. He looks up at his lips, instead, and finds him smirking.  
  
“You’re jealous,” Matthew drawls.  
  
“Fucking not,” Dominic snaps furiously.  
  
“You are. You’re jealous that Tom and Rachel, a happy couple who’ve spent five years together, asked me to join them for a threesome one time. You’re jealous of that.”  
  
Dominic’s veins flood with relief, knowing that Matthew won’t be chasing her into the ladies’ bathroom at the end of the night, or worse. “Yeah, alright, I’m jealous. Make your comments about me being a fucking puppy now, get it over with.”  
  
Matthew rolls his hips, thrusting his half-hard dick into Dominic’s loose grip. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”  
  
“...what?”  
  
Dominic’s grip tightens, and Matthew groans.  
  
“Mmmm,” Matthew hums, eyes falling shut as he lets his head rest against the door. “You wanting me that badly that you envy the people I’ve been with.  _Yes_ ,” Matthew moans as Dominic’s mouth closes around his cock once more, determined to show just how much he wants Matthew all to himself. “Do you know how many dozens... maybe even hundreds of people I’ve slept with? Fucked? Are you jealous of them all?”  
  
Dominic makes a noise of agreement as his hands roam, one up towards Matthew’s stomach and one to cradle Matthew’s balls. The fingers in his hair grip tighter.  
  
“How jealous are you of them, Dominic?”  
  
Dominic grips the base of Matthew’s cock as he pulls his lips away. “I’d kill them,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to Matthew’s slit.  
  
“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite hear.”  
  
“I’d kill them,” Dominic says clearly, looking up to meet Matthew’s eyes. He licks a fat stripe up Matthew’s cock, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “I’d kill every last one of them if it meant I get you to myself.”  
  
He doesn’t fail to notice the way Matthew’s dick twitches when he says the word “kill”.  
  
“Good boy,” Matthew says, forcing Dominic’s lips back onto his cock with a twist of the fingers in his hair. “Show me how jealous you are.”  
  
Dominic takes Matthew right to the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut at the gagging sensation but working through it, focussing on giving Matthew the best head he’s ever received.  
  
It seems to be working, too. It can be perturbing when Matthew is so insistent on being in control, but that makes moments like this, when he’s so vulnerable, so  _at his mercy_ , all the more precious.  
  
“I’m not gonna last long,” Matthew manages to whine in between moans, and begins to fumble with his jacket pocket, juggling out his mobile phone. “We need proof.”  
  
For a moment Dominic glances up, meeting the lens boldly and edging Matt deeper into his mouth. “Face down,” Matthew grinds out from between his teeth, and Dominic buries his face in the dark hair curling at the base of Matthew’s cock. A flash and a shutter sound later, and the phone falls from between his fingers, clattering onto the tiled floor. Before Dominic can reach to pick it up, Matthew’s hips are surging forwards again, his cock hitting the back of Dominic’s throat, shouting as he comes. Dominic is forced to swallow it all down, but he doesn’t really mind, loves it even as Matthew pulls too roughly on his hair. He’s rock hard in his trousers without even the faintest of touches, but he knows that won’t be for too long.  
  
“Get up,” Matthew says, panting and looking like he’s not ready to move in the slightest. “We need to go back.”  
  
Dominic picks up Matthew’s phone and hands it to him as he stands up, one knee clicking loudly. His muscles ache as he walks out of the cubicle after Matthew, stopping to check his utterly dishevelled reflection in the mirror. They both take a few moments to sort themselves out, before walking back into the ballroom.  
  
Waiting for them, looking over their shoulders, are Rachel and Tom. Their gazes follow the pair as they descend back into their seats, smirking expectantly.  
  
“Well?” Tom prompts them.  
  
“You can kiss him and taste it on his tongue, if you want,” Matthew offers with a shrug, turning to Dominic to see the furious expression he knows will be waiting on his face. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I’m not to be shared from now on.”  
  
Tom makes a whipping noise that Dominic admittedly finds funny, because he will never be able to actually tame Matthew Bellamy, but rendering him monogamous is a small enough victory for now. “Let’s see the picture, then,” and Matthew smiles as he brings his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through to find the picture. He turns the screen towards Tom and Rachel, both of their faces warping into impressed smirks. “What, no pretty face?”  
  
“Tom, you of all people should know that a photo of someone’s face in my crotch would be an excellent bargaining tool, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Let me see,” Dominic asks, expecting to be ignored. Matthew turns the phone towards him, and he can see his blond mess of hair at the end of Matthew’s torso. “Can I get that framed?”  
  
Dessert arrives, then, and the satisfied smirk stays on Matthew’s lips throughout. The final course is black forest gateau, and doesn’t come and go without a fair share of whipped cream jokes on Matthew’s behalf. Dominic is quite surprised to find Matthew taking them in good spirit, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth as he casts his eyes over the other guests in the room.  
  
“Alright, I’m bored as fuck,” Matthew says with a groan, stretching his arms high above him. “Let’s fucking finish this.”  
  
As he stands, his chair scrapes against the floor of the ballroom, and heads turn in his direction. A waiter appears at his side with a microphone, Matthew glaring at it as if it were poisonous. The boy scurries away, hurt on his face.  
  
“Ladies, gentlemen,” Matthew says loudly, as if public speaking were something he was trained for since birth. Dominic loves the sound of Matthew’s voice ordinarily, and for it to now sound so commanding, for it to have the ability to render everyone in the room silent, it makes his cock thick in his trousers.  
  
“Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for joining us this evening for our annual dinner. I’ve had a wonderful time, and I’ve enjoyed speaking to each and every one of you,” Matthew says with a wide, fake smile. Dominic finds a strange kind of pride in being privy to knowing it’s fake.  “Someone once said that brevity is the soul of wit, so I’ll keep my speech short.”  
  
Dominic watches Matthew gesture widely with his hands, studying his fingers and remembering all the varieties of pleasure they had brought him. “We’ve had some huge successes this year, from our efforts with drugs operations in Brazil, with huge thanks to Thomas Kirk here for heading up that operation.” Matthew pauses as a round of applause flutters through the room, Tom smirking at his side. “We’ve done some fantastic work in Russia, in Ukraine, in Israel, in Iraq. Not to mention the efforts of MI5, who foiled not one but two attempted assassinations on various members of the monarchy, and stopped the biggest bomb threat London has faced since 7/7. We need to keep this up throughout the coming months, to ensure that we remain the best Intelligence Services in the world.”  
  
Matthew smiles, then, and Dominic knows it’s genuine. Dominic can feel pride radiating from his boss; however much of an utter cunt he may be, he’s good at his job. “Enjoy the champagne, and have a nice night. My second in command, Tom, is now going to have a few words. Thank you.”  
  
Matthew takes his seat again to vigorous applause. Dominic finds it very difficult to remain seated, and to keep a straight face for the split-second that Matthew throws him a wicked smile. He’s taken to fidgeting profusely with his napkin, knowing that his fingers will do something much less innocent if he doesn’t keep them occupied.  
  
As soon as the attention is well focused on Tom, who is beginning a speech that feels like it’s going to be much lengthier, Dominic leans over to whisper in Matthew’s ear.  
  
“Was that a bit of Shakespeare I heard?”  
  
“Oh!” Matt grins hushedly. “I didn’t know you could read.”  
  
Dominic ignores the insult, instead leaning a fraction of an inch closer until his lips practically brush the soft skin of Matthew’s earlobe.  
  
“It was fucking hot.”  
  
“My God,” Matthew remarks. “You’re such a little whore. Is there anything in the world you don’t get off on?”  
  
“Let me think - er, no, not really,” Dominic says, flashing Matthew a grin when he rolls his eyes.  
  
Somewhere in the background, Tom blushes bright pink as he stumbles over a sentence and quickly inserts ‘cunt’ into a quick remark about his boss, and looks back at his feet with a loud cough. Matthew barely notices. His hand is creeping into Dominic’s lap, despite all his derision, and feeling for the bulge he knows will be waiting.  
  
“Sucking you off made me this hard,” Dominic says innocently, leaning towards Matthew to whisper into his ear. “I love having your cock in my mouth, I love it when you use me,” he continues, biting his lip to stop the smile creeping across his face as Matthew’s grip tightens around his erection.  
  
Rachel happens to have noticed what’s going on, but for the sake of common decency is attempting to remain focussed on her own boyfriend, no matter how difficult it’s becoming.  
  
“Look what you’re doing to Rachel,” Matthew murmurs back, his eyes focussed on the woman across the table. “She’s squirming in her seat. This is what you do to people, Dominic.” The word is punctuated with a squeeze of his cock, Dominic swallowing the moan he’s desperate to release. Matthew’s practiced fingers undo his button and fly, their work only just hidden by the lip of the table. “The thought of me getting you off, here, in public... she’s trying not to watch, look. I bet she’s so wet for you.”  
  
Dominic flushes a bright red, though he’s not sure if that’s because of the words tumbling from Matthew’s lips, or the fingers ducking beneath the waistband of his boxers. Tom tells a joke and the audience laughs, but the sound washes right over Dominic.  
  
“Wait.” Abruptly, the fingers leave him, and Dominic is left bewildered.  
  
“What are you doing?” Dominic hisses.  
  
Matthew shrugs. “I was getting bored. Shall we go? Watching Tom murder this speech is becoming horribly tedious.” Matthew smiles at Rachel, who’s been pretending not to watch them. “I’ll see you later. Tell Tom that he’s a cunt, and that his attempt was pathetic.”  
  
Rachel laughs silently, waving at them as Matthew grabs Dominic by the wrist and hauls them to their feet. Tom falters slightly, looking at them before continuing to regale the room with a story from his time in Brazil.  
  
Feeling a little rude for storming out so fast, Dominic casts a quick glance over his shoulder before obediently following his charge. It’s not like he could say no, even if he wanted to. Soon, they are out once more in the soft chill of the night.  
  
Dominic spots the car waiting outside - apparently Matthew must have paged his driver while they were inside - and turns to Matt. “Your place, I’m assuming?”  
  
“Pfft. Not exactly.”  
  
“Where are we going, then? Elysium again?”  
  
“Oh, God no. That place is a fucking  _crêche_ compared to where we’re going.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dominic feels like he should be more alarmed than excited by Matthew’s twisted grin, but sadly, that isn’t the case. In the backseat of the Mercedes, Matthew remains worryingly silent, and unusually withdrawn, to the point that Dominic thinks that to press him for more answers would be at his own risk. In a rare moment of bravery, he makes a move to try and steal a kiss, simultaneously allowing his desperate hands to make their way into Matthew’s lap. Almost immediately they are slapped away.

“Patience is a virtue, sunshine.”

Dominic spends the rest of the ride sulking in his seat. Instead of making another attempt on Matthew, he absent-mindedly gazes out of the window, and realises he has absolutely no idea where he is. They’re practically rolling through alleyways; the streets are so empty that it almost feels like they are occupied by negative space. Litter is strewn in the gutters. Windows are smashed. A soft grey sheen of thin rain dulls every perceivable object. This is not exactly the sort of scene he has come to associate with the head of Britain’s intelligence services. Still, stung by his rejection, he bites his tongue and does not ask any more questions.

He’d like to think he can trust Matthew to take him somewhere safe, but he knows all too well that he can’t.

“Anywhere here,” Matthew commands. Dominic realises he’s never heard the driver’s name, not once in the last five months, even though it’s always the same old man with the balding hair and large nose. Dominic wonders if he even has a name, or if he’s as obsolete and dispensable as the rest of them. _The rest of us._

Without a word, they pull in smoothly by the pavement. Matthew doesn’t wait to be let out, instead leaving with a sense of urgency, grabbing Dominic by the arm and hauling him out like a dead weight. Before the door slams shut, however, he hears the driver talk for the first time.

“C and D have arrived at the DOP.”

Dominic turns to Matthew with a frown. “D?” he asks. “I’m known as D?!”

“It’s nothing to do with your dick, before you jump to those stupid conclusions you like to jump to,” Matthew mutters. “He’s just checking us in, anyway; aren’t you meant to be the security expert?”

With a slightly irritated groan, Dominic directs his attention to whatever godforsaken corner of London they’ve been deposited in. Waiting directly outside is a seemingly derelict shop-front; there are no signs of life from within, no sound or light. Ripped posters smatter the blacked-out windows as if to conceal what lies within. At first, Dominic assumes they have come to the wrong place. Surely their real destination is just around the corner, humming with voices and gleaming, unlike this strange, dead husk which perhaps last entertained living organisms a few millennia ago. But to his horror, Matthew is not making a single move to suggest they’re going anywhere else.

“This place?” Dominic frowns. “You’re joking, right?”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s not what’s on the outside, but it’s what on the inside that counts?” Matthew asks.

Dominic spreads his hands in the universal gesture of _what the fuck_. “No. She said she wanted pretty grandchildren.”

“Shame that her only son grew up to be a raging homosexual. Let’s go.”

“I’m not a - _oh_ , for God’s sake.” Sighing, he reluctantly follows Matthew through a door which protests its being opened almost as much as Dominic wants to, and descends a blackened staircase he doesn’t trust not to give way beneath him. “Matt - Jesus Christ, where are we? Listen, I’m really not sure about this.”

Matthew’s response comes out as the deathly, agonised wail of a teenage boy. “God, when did you get so fucking dull? You’re supposed to be willing to let lunatics put bullets in your skull for me, but God forbid you follow me into a _remotely_ sleazy joint.” Matthew smiles softly, and it throws Dominic off. “You could just, you know, go home if you want. You must have something else to do other than follow me about.”

Dominic’s hands curl into fists at his sides, defeated. They both know his favourite thing to do is follow Matthew about. “Do you have to be such a cunt all the time?” he says in submission, but when Matthew continues to descend the stairs, he doesn’t follow.

Matthew sighs, reaching into his pocket for a bag of white powder. Dominic feels his resolve wavering. It’s been a while since he’s had a hit. “Do you trust me?” Matthew asks quietly, so quietly that Dominic barely hears the words. He looks up at Dominic, a step above him on the stairs, with wide blue eyes that he can’t say no to.

“Yes,” he says, feeling his throat close up around the word.

“You shouldn’t,” Matthew says matter-of-factly, as he pours the powder into his flat palm. Dominic wonders briefly why he isn’t pouring the coke onto a flatter surface, so he can carve it up into lines. Matthew looks up at him, raising the drug to his lips. “I don’t even trust myself.”

He blows the powder into Dominic’s face.

Dominic gasps and stumbles, falling onto his arse on the step behind him as he flacks the cloud of powder away from his face. White flecks of it coat the lapels of his tux, and when he looks up through the dusty air, Matthew is holding his sleeve over his nose. When he lowers his arm, he’s grinning wickedly. “ _What the fuck_ ,” Dominic growls out, before coughing. The drug is on his tongue, but it doesn’t have the usual acrid taste of cocaine. “You just wasted a perfectly good batch of… of…fucking _hell_ …”

“Come on now, Howard, you don’t really think that’s cocaine, do you?” Matthew asks, squatting on the step to see eye-to-eye with Dominic. “I’ll give you a quick run through, while you’re still coherent. This is Scopolamine, otherwise known as hyoscine or the Devil’s Breath.” Matthew grins manically. “Tom got me some from Colombia on the way back from Brazil. Wonderfully ironic, don’t you think? Anyway. In a few minutes you’ll go into a vegetative state, which, in all honesty, isn’t much worse than you on a normal day. You’ll lose practically all of your free will, essentially rendering you mine, which, again, isn’t much worse than a normal day at the office. You still with me?”

Dominic nods slowly, his head feeling much heavier than it did five minutes ago. His eyelids droop slightly. He feels like he should be at least a little bit angry at Matthew for what he’s just heard, but no matter how deep he digs for the emotion, he simply can’t find it.

“You might have hallucinations, but that’s all part of the fun. It can be lethal in large doses, but I’ve become quite accustomed to your presence over the last few months, so I measured it out. That’s the closest I’ll ever get to showing you emotion, sunshine, and you won’t even remember in the morning. Oh, tonight will be fun,” Matthew says, grinning again. The words are just about registering, but Dominic feels like he’s wading through an ocean to even be able to hear them.

“Yes,” he mumbles, even though he’s still fairly aware that Matthew didn’t ask any questions. Sluggishly, his mind processes the fact that Matthew is now walking away, drifting from him into that dark tunnel ahead, and for a terrifying moment he feels utterly lost before he stumbles helplessly after him.

After what feels like lifetimes, he falls to his knees in a very dimly-lit room, bumping his head on what he later presumes to be a coffee table, and remains on the floor in a state of immense and sudden lethargy, listening to the ghostly voices swimming around in the air above him. As he sits up, Matthew’s fingers brush the back of his neck.

“What’s this geezer on?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Is he some kind of whore?”

“He is, and he’s mine. You lay a finger on him, you will lose that finger, and the arm it’s attached to.”

Dominic leans towards the comforting sound of Matthew’s commanding voice, and the touch on his neck turns into a grip. Matthew hauls him to his feet, Dominic complying with the physical request as soon as he can feel his limbs again. “Are you done with your episode, now?” Matthew asks as he’s whirled around to look into his eyes.

“Yes sir,” Dominic finds himself mumbling, and he knows it’s the right thing when Matthew’s glare morphs into a smirk. Now that he can actually see the room, he realises that there isn’t really that much to see; it’s unbelievably dark, and all he can make out are the wispy outlines of people and leather furniture, the odd bookcase, a glass, a curl of smoke rising, rising, rising to join a cloud of the stuff hanging above the room as if it were a permanent installation. The scent of the place stings his nostrils.

“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Hello,” Dominic says with a bright smile, and Matthew laughs, the sound tinkling in his ears like music. Matthew sits them down on a leather sofa and Dominic takes to prodding a hole in it, able to concentrate on small things more easily than the rest of the bustling room. He hardly notices Matthew pouring a drug onto the table, and of course it’s cocaine this time, Dominic thinks as his attention is pulled towards the tendons dancing in the backs of Matthew’s palms. He cuts the lines with elegance, alternating taking them with offering them to other men and women sat at the table.

Dominic wonders if they’re overdressed, both of them sat in their tuxedos, but when he glances around at the smoking jackets, the flapper dresses, the men barely clad and the women in even less, he doesn’t feel out of place in the slightest.

“Dominic,” Matthew purrs, and Dominic finds himself smiling at the voice, and he can’t stop. He normally tries so hard to mask his feelings, to give Matthew nothing to take, but tonight he seems unable to stop offering everything to the man at his side. “The lovely ladies over there were just talking quite loudly about you. Do you want to hear what they said?”

“Yes.”

Matthew gestures to two women on the other side of the low table, who are now blushing and shaking their heads. “They said that you look like my pet. Tell them.”

Dominic knows he should be embarrassed, should be blushing and calling Matthew a cunt under his breath, but the words tumble unbidden from his lips. “I belong to him. I love to suck his cock, I love taking it into my throat as deep as I can. If I’ve been good, Matthew will stretch me open and make me beg for it, before he fucks me good and proper, until I’m screaming, and he fills me right up with come, and sometimes he’ll use a plug to--”

“That’ll do, Dominic,” Matthew says in a tight voice. Dominic grins when he sees Matthew’s dick straining against his trousers, proud of his work. His own cock is showing its interest, beginning to thicken again, still not spent after getting so close to release earlier in the toilets. “Is that enough for you, ladies?”

One of them laughs, an awful, strained sound. Every cigarette she’s consumed in her life voices itself through it. The other simply flicks her black hair over her shoulder, red lips still set in a pout as if she’s above this conversation and everyone else in the room.

“How much do you want me, Dominic?” Matthew asks in that liquid honey voice of his, and Dominic finds himself sliding to his knees.

“So much. Always want you.”

“Yeah?” Matthew asks with a distracted air. “Go eat her out.”

His extended index finger points at the woman with the black hair, admittedly the prettier of the two. Her emerald dress barely covers the apex of her thighs, long legs crossed and ankle bobbing slightly. The movement stops as she clocks on. “No,” she says, even though Dominic is already crawling around the coffee table, eager to please.

“Do you know who I am?” Matthew asks softly, in the kind of tone a father would use to tuck his daughter in at night. The woman lifts her chin slightly, before dropping it.

“And so _you_ must know, Matthew Bellamy, that I’m one of the most powerful lawyers in London?” she challenges.

“Oh, of course, Amanda,” Matthew says, pressing a hand to his heart. Dominic sits on his heels in front of the woman’s crossed legs. “But I also know that you have an exhibitionist kink, that you absolutely love cunnilingus, and that Dominic here has an incredibly talented tongue. Open up.”

Amanda glances around their small group, before sighing and uncrossing her legs.

Dominic eagerly shifts forward, pressing a kiss to her bare knee as he pushes her dress up, exposing black knickers. She lifts her bum as he pulls them right down to her ankles, where they get kicked off one foot. Amanda yelps as Dominic gracelessly pulls her forward in her seat, lifting her legs over his shoulders. It reminds him of a lifetime he’s long forgotten, of a girlfriend he used to love before the Army and Afghanistan and Matthew and C and Matthew. Before he knows it, he’s nosing the barely-there dark curls between her legs, tongue tentatively curling around her clit and making her cry out.

“Good boy,” he hears Matthew croon from behind him, and Dominic’s dick twitches in his trousers. He increases the pressure of his tongue, not wasting time as he moves down to her opening, lapping up the wetness he finds there. She tastes sweet, but doesn’t compare in the slightest to Matthew.

Amanda arches her back as one of Dominic’s hands creeps around to squeeze her bum. “You’re eating her out, Dominic, not groping her like a fucking teenager.” Dominic drops the hand instantly, instead opening her legs further so he can reach deeper inside her with his tongue. She moans loudly, gripping Dominic’s hair in a moment of ecstasy.

“Stop.”

Dominic releases her, letting her legs fall off his shoulders as she all but slides off the seat. A few seconds later, she remembers herself, tugging her dress down and reaching for her knickers.

“I never said you could touch Dominic.”

“I never gave my consent for that little stunt,” Amanda snaps back

Matthew smiles, beckoning Dominic towards him with a crook of his finger. He kneels next to Matthew, smiling when he feels fingers stroking his hair. “You sounded like you enjoyed it though. Isn’t that consent enough?”

Amanda’s eyes narrow. “You’re a cunt,” she sneers, standing from the table and strutting away.

“Well that was rude,” Matthew purrs in Dominic’s ear. “She didn’t even thank you.” One long finger swipes up the blob of come underneath Dominic’s bottom lip, and Matthew licks it off. “Any other night, and I’d send you over to go kill her. Or perhaps I’d see her off myself,” he muses, Dominic overwhelmed by the proximity of Matthew, his dick fully hard now. “But like I said, any other night. Did you enjoy that, Dominic?” he asks, glancing down at Dominic’s erection in his trousers. “Do you enjoy being passed around a group of complete strangers?”

Dominic ducks his head and bites his lip, and it’s all the encouragement Matthew needs.

“Get up,” he orders, and Dominic makes to stand. “No, no. On the coffee table.”

People reach to rescue their drinks as Dominic clambers onto the low table, a heavy oak thing that’s seen better days. He kneels in the middle of it, looking expectantly to Matthew.

“Lean back, hands behind your back. Show them all how much you enjoyed being used.”

Dominic leans back, his erection now obvious to the crowd gathered around their seats, much larger than at the start of their games. Even though the sofa is free on either side of Matthew, no one dares to sit down.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, right now. Or would it even be me? You can have any of these people, Dom, if you want them, if you get a thrill out of being a slut.”

Dominic looks around at the faces, eyes settling on a broad blond man who looks like he has more money than sense. “Him. I’d get like this,” Dominic says, before turning over so he’s on all fours, looking at Matthew. “He’d be below me, sucking me off. And you, you’d be behind me, rimming me.”

“Really,” Matthew says breathlessly, eyebrows raised. It was one of the few sexual endeavours they’d never bothered to try.

“Yeah,” Dominic says, closing his eyes and biting his lip. If he imagines hard enough, he can see the blond guy beneath him, can hear the insults in foreign languages from behind him. He opens his eyes to look at the blond guy, to see him turning bright red. “Then when I’m slick and ready, you’ll both come up behind me and...” Dominic shudders as his back arches, the hallucination nearly making him come in his trousers. “You’d both... at the same time,” he pants.

Matthew quickly closes his slack-jawed mouth, clearing his throat. “But you’re mine. I won’t share you.” He grits his teeth, looking around the gathered audience. “Don’t forget your place,” he snaps, and Dominic’s eyes suddenly lock on his as he rolls onto his back. Matthew smiles when he sees a hint of fear in them. “Come. Come for me, now. Right here, with all these people watching. Come, Dominic.”

On edge for so long, Dominic hardly needs the encouragement. His hips arch off the table, the heels of his shoes digging into the wood as he comes in his trousers, cock untouched since he hastily palmed it after their bathroom escapade, lifetimes ago. He opens his eyes slowly in the afterglow, looking at the flushed faces of the crowd.

“Well, look who’s here!”

Still recovering on the coffee table, Dominic registers the voice and is sure he’s heard it before. His memories are becoming extensively difficult to peruse, however, and for a few moments he’s convinced it’s his cousin who he hasn’t seen in seven years. That guess is quickly dispelled when he sits up and spots Tom, complete with Rachel at his arm, emerging from the shadows of the stairway. The former takes in Dominic with an air of bewilderment.

“Jesus, you’re looking rough. What did you do to - _oh_ ,” he grins broadly and turns to Matthew. “Using my little souvenir, are you?”

Matthew stands up abruptly, grabbing Dominic by the lapels and hauling him into a kneeling position on the table. “We’re in.”

Rachel’s eyebrows draw together. “What?”

“We’re joining you tonight. Both of us.”

Dominic turns his head, remembering who Tom and Rachel are, and what they do with Matthew. “But you said you don’t share,” he says lowly, tilting his head to the side. “You said--”

Matthew closes a hand around his throat. He squeezes.

“You want someone else so fucking bad, _here_ , have it. In fact, have two people,” he spits, face inches from Dominic’s and pure fury in his eyes. “Both genders, fucking get a taste of both. Because you loved the fucking taste of that slut, didn’t you?”

Matthew shoves at Dominic, the bodyguard gasping for air as he falls off the table and onto the floor, unable to move his arms in time to catch himself. His hands fly to his throat, to massage his windpipe, as he sees Matthew beginning to loom over him. He scurries backwards on his heels and bum, until Tom grasps Matthew’s biceps from behind.

“Stop. Cool it, cool it, calm down,” Tom says lowly, and Matthew’s heaving shoulders roll once, shrugging off Tom’s grip. “We’re not going anywhere when you’re like this. Let’s get a drink, go somewhere more private...” he says, looking around to the forming crowd. “Considering who you are - who _we_ are - we’re currently gathering a lot of attention.”

Matthew follows Tom to the bar with his lips set in a tight line, Rachel helping to brush away the powder still lingering on the lapels of Dominic’s tux. She corrects the bow tie, crushed under Matthew’s fingers. “It’s alright, Dom,” she whispers, continuing to straighten out his suit. She tugs at certain strands of hair, trying to coerce them back into place. “He won’t be able to hurt you for much longer.”

Dominic fixes her with a disgruntled stare as she straightens up and trots over to Tom’s side once more. He’s sure she meant something through those words, but his brain isn’t processing at its normal speed at present, and he is soon distracted by the beckoning of Matthew’s fingers.

“Let’s go to the back room,” Matthew announces authoritatively. “I think this lot have seen quite enough of my private life for tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

The back room is entirely deserted. The sole occupants are a pair of Turkish-style divans, a working saxophone grinding out the dreariest jazz music Dominic has ever heard in his life, and a direly threadbare rug which could well predate the dinosaurs. The lamplight flickers jarringly as they proceed in rather painful silence, Tom being the first to take a seat, and gesturing for Matthew to join him.

A waitress appears, a tray laden with drinks in her hands. She sets them down wordlessly, before she disappears into thin air once more. Dominic takes a swig, totally unmindful of whatever it is he’s drinking, but feeling a warmth bubble down into his stomach. He tries to take another, only to have an intruding hand clamp over it.

“No more of that for you,” Matthew whispers into his ear. “Not with what’s already in your system.”

Instead of joining them, Rachel hesitates a moment before quietly dismissing herself to go to the toilets, Tom smiling after her. Once more, Matthew’s lips are at Dominic’s ear.

“She looked like she was pulling faces before. What did she say to you?”

“She said it was alright,” he yields willingly. “She said you wouldn’t be able to hurt me much longer.”

Matthew’s eyes wander the room for a moment. His lips remain pursed in thought. He nods.

“Thank you, Dominic.”

Dominic blinks stupidly as he feels lips pressed against his cheek for a fleeting moment. As soon as he turns into the touch, though, it’s gone. He bites his lip, wondering if it was simply another hallucination.

Rachel returns due course, aiming to sit beside Tom but instead being pulled to sit on his lap. She looks mildly uncomfortable, but crosses her legs neatly and throws one shapely arm around her boyfriend’s neck. A smile crawls back onto Matthew’s face at alarming speed.

“You know,” Matthew says leadingly. “I don’t think I fancy another drink, after all.”

Tom smirks. “You in a hurry, Bellamy?”

“Always,” Matthew smiles menacingly, before tipping his head back and finishing his drink. “Let’s go.”

Dominic’s head swims as he is ushered out of the back room, through the lounge, and up the stairs. By now, he is feeling woefully lethargic. There’s nowhere he’d rather be but in bed, any bed, anyone’s bed.

Matthew’s face swims into his vision, as two strong hands steady him before the night air wraps entirely around his skin. “Find out more,” he whispers in his ear, and Dominic wonders if he’ll be kissed again, but he tumbles into a car and it moves off, making his stomach lurch. After one dizzying moment, he finds himself sharing a cab with Rachel alone.

He smiles. He likes her face. It’s an elegant one, a clever one. Her nose is fascinating.

_ Find out more. _

“Uh,” he mumbles, struggling to find the words he needs. “Matt doesn’t hurt me,” he finds himself saying. “Except the time he burnt the back of my calf, because he thought it was... actually, I don’t remember.” Dominic puts a hand out as the car turns a corner, throwing off his centre of balance.

She nods slowly, looking concerned. “Dominic,” she addresses him. “What did he give you? Tonight, I mean?”

“Hm? Oh,” he laughs. “It was...it had a funny name, I remember. And it was like cocaine, but it wasn’t. I don’t really remember.” He watches her face morph into shock and continues. “I’m fine, though! Matt looks after me. I love him. Oh God, don’t tell him that, he’ll kill me. Like, proper kill me until I’m dead.”

Her eyebrows knit together suspiciously.

“Dominic, do you have anywhere else to go tonight?”

“I stay with Matt. It’s my job,” he says, his expression now mirroring hers. “Why do you care about me so much anyway? You don’t even know me. Is it because you love Matt?”

Rachel’s mouth pops open softly, her eyes wide before she composes herself. “Dominic,” she says quietly. “I don’t love Matthew, and I never will. The state of you, you poor thing. Can I tell you a secret? It’s not like you’ll remember, anyway.”

Dominic nods dumbly.

“Matthew Bellamy is a _very_ dangerous man, and the sooner he’s out of his job, the better. All he’s done as C is abuse his position of power and destroy this organisation from inside out. He hurts people, Dominic,” she says, reaching forward to grip Dominic’s hand in her own. “He uses people until they have no purpose to him anymore, and then he tosses them aside. I don’t want you to end up like that, Dominic. Not when there’s been people like you before.”

“But I love...” Dominic swallows. “But he looks after me.”

“You realise he’s orchestrated drug deals and organised crimes that have earned him an arrest warrant in three different countries? I know people working on his case, Dominic. He’ll soon be in prison, and he won’t be able to hurt you anymore. Look at you,” she says, taking in his wide eyes and forlorn expression. “Look what he’s done to you.”

Dominic has no answer for that.

The cab pulls up outside a posh looking block of flats somewhere near the old docks. Dominic fumbles his way out, instantly looking around for Matthew, whose taxi pulled up a few moments before.

“Dominic,” Matthew calls sharply, and Dominic rushes to his side. “What did you find?”

Dominic glances over his shoulder to Tom and Rachel, smiling and kissing softly with the taxis disappearing into the night once more. “She said there’s a case against you. That people know about your crimes, or something. She wants to save me, but I don’t want to be saved because I... because you look after me.”

Matthew cocks his head, looking at how Dominic is huddled into his side like a frightened child. “Well done, Dom,” he says, wrapping an arm around his bodyguard and pulling him into an awkward hug, just for a moment. “You’re one of the loyalest men I know.”

The smile that lights up Dominic’s face then could illuminate the whole of London. Rachel’s words evaporate into the air, out of his mind.

“Let’s go upstairs and forget about all this, let’s go relax.”

The ride in the lift is, in a word, frigid. Tom seems to be the only one even trying to relax, glancing between Dominic, his girlfriend and his best friend, offering tiny, tired scraps of small talk--

_ “So, um, terrible weather at the moment…” _

_ “God, when was the last time we were all here, together?...” _

_ “Someone got stuck in this lift the other day, you know…” _

\--each time only graced with a hum of agreement at the most. The lack of conversation, the lack of touching, the strange, stale smell of the lift makes Dominic feel drowsier and drowsier. After a while it’s hard to keep his eyes open, and he keeps slumping onto Matt’ shoulder, barely even realising he was leaning over in the first place.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the lapel of Matthew’s suit before he stands up fully. He doesn’t see the small smile Matthew gives him.

Tom and Rachel’s flat is warmly furnished, unlike Matthew’s which is full of modern gadgets and few if any homey touches. Tom asks distractedly if anyone wants a drink, and Matthew helps slide Dominic’s dinner jacket off his shoulders. “A bit out of it,” Dominic hears Matthew say, before he’s turned around to face Rachel, who kisses him.

“Don’t start without me!” Tom half jokes from the kitchen, but Dominic can only think about how Matthew really didn’t want to share him. Eyes still open, he glances to Matthew, who nods his approval with a tiny smile on his face.

Hands are all over him, ridding him of his shirt and his cummerbund and finally his trousers, even as he trips over his shoes and lands on a bed that seems to have risen up out of nowhere to catch him, all white sheets with small rose embroidery at the edges. Dominic wonders distractedly if Rachel must’ve chose their bedding, as a hand grips his erection and another runs through his hair.

He looks up to see Rachel and Matthew kissing, and it makes Dominic’s cock jump in the hand of whoever’s gripping him, and there’s a breeze blowing across his naked skin and a dull pressure at his entrance, and where has Tom gotten to in all of this? Then he’s being opened up, and he can’t choke back the moan, and Matthew looks at him with darkened eyes and a wicked grin, with his fingers buried inside Rachel.

Dominic ends up face to face with Rachel on his hands and knees, although Rachel is looking at a point above Dominic’s head and Dominic is watching Matthew prepare himself. Tom says something about a condom from behind him before Matthew tips his head back and laughs, and Dominic watches the tendons of his neck dance as he moves. Groaning as the fingers within him are replaced with something much more substantial (but nothing in comparison to his normal fare), Dominic’s eyes flutter open from when they had closed to meet Matthew’s, whose hands are on Rachel’s hips as he pulls her up to sit in his lap. Dominic watches Matthew’s cock slide in and out of the woman, before he moves his hands around to her front, something strung between them.

He wants to raise his voice. He wants to tell her, cause he’s not sure if she knows. But the words never come. Next thing he knows, there’s a shining silver wire to her neck, pressing hard against the skin, and she’s screaming, but there’s no sound.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tom shouts, and Dominic cries out as Tom pulls out roughly, pushing him down into the mattress. He fights against his weary limbs, looking around the room to the books on the bookshelf, the artsy bronze statuette on the chest of drawers, the blood dripping down onto the sheets. Tom’s shadow rushes towards the door.

“I wouldn’t bother, Thomas. Your phone line is disconnected, mobile phone jammed and I took the courtesy to make sure your pistol is unloaded. Didn’t you know it’s unsafe to keep a loaded weapon in the family home? Think of the children. Well...” Matthew smiles, pulling tighter at the cord, still buried inside Rachel. “You don’t have any. Yet. Although, I’m sure I read something about Rachel having a meeting with her HR manager a week ago. Oh, didn’t she tell you?”

He pulls at both ends of the wire like he’s tightening a shoelace. There’s the most terrible sound, like someone gagging, like fabric tearing, like a car stalling, and Rachel’s body shakes once, then falls limp.

Dominic realises he’s gripping fistfuls of the bedsheets, as the blood creeps across the fibres towards his knuckles. For a moment, the slow, advancing wave of red is so mesmerising that he doesn’t even notice Tom grabbing Matthew by the shoulders and wrenching him away from her until one fist has already collided with his face.

“You _bastard_!” Tom howls. Another punch. Blood this time, it sprays quite beautifully. “You fucking _bastard_ \--”

Somewhere in his gut, Dominic knows he has to help Matthew. Or at least, he thinks so. But isn’t he the reason that Rachel, the girl with the lovely face, the clever nose, is slumped over on the bed, not breathing? Is that the kind of person he wants to save?

“Dom,” a pained voice gurgles. Is that Matt? It doesn’t sound like Matt. Matt never sounded that scared before. “Kill him. Kill him for _me_.”

The decision is made for him.

He sees the statuette again, shining a dark gold, and it calls to him. His hands are reaching for it. He can feel it, yearning to collide with skin, to break bones. He doesn’t flinch as he stands above Tom’s head, waiting until he dares to land another punch on his charge’s face, before he brings it down heavy on his skull.

The resulting crack is marvellously satisfying. Immediately, Tom rolls off Matt, sliding onto his back, his eyes unseeing. Dominic sees the steady rise and fall of his chest, still going on. _Kill him for me_. He brings down the statue again, the entire body jerking unsettlingly, another splash of blood. The hand still twitching. Again. “Dom.” Again. _Crack_. Blood splattering on his knees, on the hair of his legs. It’s warm.

“Dom.”

Blood from Tom’s mouth. Blood on the bed. Rachel will have to wash that a couple of times to get it all out. He brings the statuette down again, but this time it gets caught on a bit of bone.

“ _Dom_.”

Dominic stops, stands up straight, leaves the statuette lodged in Tom’s skull. Matthew is staring, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You can stop now.”

“Was I good?” Dominic asks.

Matthew blinks at him, before he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching sadly. “Yeah, Dom. You were perfect.”

“I’m tired.”

“Come here,” Matthew says, and Dominic crawls over Tom, onto the damp bed. Matthew traces his fingers across the side of Dominic’s face, across the bruises flourishing already on his neck. He kisses him softly, so softly that Dominic’s sure he’s dreaming, because he’s never been kissed like this by Matthew before. “Go to sleep, there’s another bedroom down the hall,” Matthew says, and Dominic’s already shuffling through the bloodied carpet, out of the door. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Dominic’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

*

When he wakes, his head feels empty. Clean. Light.

The bedroom isn’t one he recognises, but Matthew is beside him, face mashed into the pillow, the visible corner of his mouth curled up as he sleeps. Dominic thinks about the dinner last night, and the cheeky blowjob he gave Matthew in the bathrooms, and how they left the dinner and... Dominic doesn’t remember much after that, nothing at all, but his limbs are heavy and his arse is sore, which isn’t an unusual occurrence around Matthew.

But it mustn't be worth remembering, anyway. If it was important, he’d remember.

“Matt,” he mutters softly, poking him in his sleep, and laughing as he squirms. “Matt, wake up.”

“Where’s my pistol,” Matthew murmurs, turning his face further into his pillow. “Or maybe cyanide. Or one of those watches that emits a poisonous cloud of gas.”

Dominic smiles to himself. “What are you talking about?” he mumbles.

“Ways to kill you for waking me up this early,” Matthew replies, facing away from Dominic. “What did you want?”

“I had the _strangest_ dream,” Dominic begins, running his fingers through the back of Matthew’s hair. “Rachel and Tom were there, you know the people you introduced me to at dinner? They were nice, and there was lots of red. Was Rachel wearing a red dress?”

Matthew turns his head to look at him, and Dominic gasps. On the left side of his nose are a chain of purple bruises, one of them leaking like ink into the socket of his eye. “What happened to your face?” Dominic says, touching one of the bruises gently. Matthew pulls away.

“We got a bit adventurous last night, don’t you remember? We came home after the dinner, you were _insatiable_ ,” Matthew says in a gravelly tone, fingers reaching out to splay on Dominic’s neck. “You’ve got a matching set here.”

“Oh, right,” Dominic says, then he laughs to himself. “Glad we kept ourselves out of trouble, then.”

“Oh, Dominic,” Matthew smiles with a glint in his eye. “You have _no_ idea.”


End file.
